


Private Lesson

by decidingdolan



Category: Spring Awakening
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Spring Awakening. Melchior fires up his laptop and shows Moritz a companion to his essay. Melchior being the way he is, this isn't going to go down without breaking a rule or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Lesson

“Ohh…”

He blinked.

“Yes….yes, oh, faster—f—“

A hand shrunk from the laptop’s black keyboard, face turning in the direction opposite of the screen. Short, frequent breathing escaped his lips. Arms automatically hugging his knees against his chest on the chair, hazel eyes frantic. Oh. God. Oh God.

“Ohhh---fuc—“

Moritz Stiefel lifted his eyes from the laptop’s screen, peering back to the bed behind the chair he was sitting (cowering on, more like). His best friend, and perhaps the only confidante he had in the world, the school’s not-so-secret rebel, Melchior Gabor, half-lay on the mattress, an arm behind his head on the pillow, another holding up the cell he had been gazing at for the last ten minutes.

No, Moritz. Stop.

Focus.

Oh God.

He drew in a shaky breath. “M-Melchi…” Damn his stuttering! Melchior turned on his side to face him, an elbow propped up on the mattress, cell still gripped firmly in the other hand. “Yeah?” And the way he asked back! The simple question! Moritz almost wished he hadn’t stopped…’educating’….himself and called Melchior out of whatever he was doing (He shouldn’t look. No. Of course not.).

It itched. Moritz stared at Melchior’s face, mouth agape, hands shaking a little. He shouldn’t be like this. But that face. Playfulness and confidence danced in those eyes. A smirk looked ready to break out from those pair of lips.

He realized, with a jolt—but then, weren’t any other realization he had experienced, ever?—he had kept silent for too long when Melchior got up from the bed and was standing behind the chair.

A hand touched his shoulder. The slightest, lightest touch, and Moritz jumped. He glanced back, heart thumping. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t right to be too anxious. Maybe it wasn’t right to—but what?

“Hey, hey.”

A chuckle. Of course he would chuckle. Of course he would see this all as a joke. But. …but…Oh, for the love of….not too close, Melchi. No. Please.

He could plead all he wanted. Melchior’s face was hovering inches next to his. The back of his hand on his cheek.

And he was still.

“You ok?” Those two words. He breathed. Looked up. Melchior gave a small nod.

Tongue moistened lips. Several times. Moritz gulped. “I…I um…I am.” No need to bring back the broken sentences, but he did.

Melchior leaned back, straightening up in his place behind Moritz. He glanced at the screen, which Moritz had forgotten had continued playing….uh…whatever it was….. The noises seemed to seep back into his ears.

Pain.

Pleasure.

Which was which?

“Melchi.” Okay. Second time. Better make this one count, Moritz. Melchior’s eyes focused onto his. “Hmm?”

He hugged his knees closer to his chest, unashamed. Melchior had been around. He had seen him at his worst. This was him, reacting. This was him, trying (and failing) to overcome his apparent and growing discomfort.

“Are you…” His eyes flitted to the screen and back to Melchior’s. “...are you…sure…this is a good idea?”

Faint words, a barely audible whisper. Moritz interpreted the expression on Melchior’s face to be a rough cross between bemusement and empathy.

A squeeze on his shoulder. “You wanted to know.” If his words were a loose handshake, Melchior’s were a strong, firm grip. A smooth sentence, drew out with that effortless confidence he had mastered when Moritz was busying himself worrying about….sadly, everything.

Melchior tapped a finger on the screen. “So I thought I’d show you.”

Moritz squeezed his eyes shut.

xxxxxxx

His cell vibrated against his trousers’ pocket. His hand reached down, tapped it, on impulse, a sound attracting the unnecessary attention from the other students in the classroom.

Crap.

He wanted to curse, aloud. But didn’t.

Moritz slowly pulled the cell out and flipped it open under his desk.

Droning sounds in the background. Latin. Chants. This could never stop.

Breaths caught in his throat, heart halted beating. He ran his eyes over the words, illuminated by the soft glow of the gadget,  on the screen again.

_Your place. Tonight. A companion to my essay. Still interested? –MG_

Trembling fingers typed in his reply. Moritz flipped the cell back when done, back pushed against the chair, head whipped up, facing the blackboard.

One hand flattened his blazer, the other reached up, tangled in his mess of a hair.

Breathe. _Breathe._

He closed his eyes, opened them, his lips shaped themselves to pronounce the Latin words, blending as one with the crowd.

Feet tapping.

There. There.

A few hours more.

_Just a few._

Several desks away to the back of the classroom, Melchior flipped open his cell on the desk, a smile written across his face when he had read the short message.

Moritz’s really going to get the surprise of his life tonight.

Pretty sure it was the right approach. Lead him up step by step. When the internet was at hand, YouTube a click away, being  ‘uneducated’ about all this stuff was a joke.

Besides, Moritz. Poor, poor Moritz. Already troubled himself, stressed to death by the suffocating pressures of those surrounding him.

If there was one worry he could lift, one nightmare he could clarify and explain as a natural incident, a result of hormones and puberty, he would.

Melchior met Moritz’s eyes across the room. He winked. His best friend’s lips quivered, before turning away, rather abruptly, again engrossed in the lecture.

He flipped the cell closed, tugging it back into his pocket, anticipation rising in his chest.

Moritz’s reply echoed in his mind the rest of that afternoon.

_Perfect. –MS_

xxxx

Moritz paced around the room. His bedroom, for God’s sake. He should have been fine. Should have being the key phrase.

Melchior sat himself on the bed, eyes following Moritz’s movements. He raised a hand. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

And Moritz stopped. He touched a thumb to his lower lip, feet fidgeting. “What are you showing me, Melchi?”

Melchior tilted his head. “Sex.”

The word sizzled in the air, lingered, to his prolonged unease, after Melchior had said it in that carefree way of his.

A nerve throbbed in Moritz’s head. Heat rushed to his cheeks. Lips suddenly dry. He wasn’t aware such a word could have that kind of effect on him. “Wh—what?”

Melchior laughed. He pushed himself up, and turned halfway to get his laptop from his backpack. He opened it up on his lap, and typed in some words nonchalantly. Moritz watched, a pained curiosity on his features.

A few seconds passed. Melchior handed Moritz the laptop. “Here,” he offered, “Take a look.”

Moritz took the laptop from him, hands shaking against his will. He placed the laptop on his desk, pushed out his chair, and sat down.

Frozen.

Melchior’s voice behind him. “You’ve read _The Art of Sleeping With_ , right?”

That essay. A hand formed into a fist, knuckles white. Murmuring underneath his breath. “You’ve only made it worse. Made _them_ worse.” The nightmares. The fantasies. The haunting illusion of…things…stockings…clothed in long legs….those creamy white thighs…of a faceless girl…persistent images that his mind had conjured up on its own….

And the desire, the lust that was brimming to the edge when he woke up….the burning sensation…down there…

He bristled.

Melchior smiled. The same gentle, encouraging smile that would have half the girls in their class fainting. To Moritz, it was the same old.

It was just them.

And that smile. The smile he was so used to seeing.

His shoulders relaxed a bit.

“It’s normal, Moritz.” He hated that tone, sometimes. Melchior’s subtle attempt at soothing. Trouble was, it always did work on him. “People do this.”

Do. Maybe it was his ears. Clearly an emphasis there.

Do? Consciously?

Melchior jerked his chin towards the screen, blackened now with the dark background of a film that was about to start.

Dark.

The uncertainty of that void. Blackness luring him, engulfing him in.

He knew he was thinking too much, as was his usual habit. Pathetic. Moritz bit his lip. “And this…this is…”

“Porn.”

Every word out of Melchior’s mouth was another blow to his chest. His best friend wasn’t too keen on mincing words.

Straight to the point was the way Melchior was. He should have (damn!) known.

A part of him wanted to kick himself for being foolish enough to ask, a part wanted to press the spacebar to play the ‘video’ and get it over with.

He shifted in his seat, back to the screen, hands unconsciously gripped onto the chair on either side of him. “But you…told me….illustrations…”

Melchior shook his head. “This is much better than my sketches, trust me,” he pushed himself up from the bed, stepping closer to the chair. “It’s live, moving, people, noises, cries, you’ll hear it, you’ll hear them. You can almost… _feel_ ….it.”

While the muscles on Moritz’s face appeared to be paralyzed, Melchior’s voice leapt, animated, life breathed into each word out of his lips.

Melchior’s hand brushed over his. “Go on, I won’t watch you.” And he leaned in, breaths tickling Moritz’s ear. Moritz tried to not shiver, to no success. “Trust me, this would help.”

xxx

_Breathe._

Slowly, slowly. That’s it. Draw that supply of air up. Up.

Exhale, come on.

Shouldn’t be this hard.

Calm. Down. You can do this.

Of course you can.

That’s not sweat, is it? God, I hope not. Don’t…shake…it. Stay still.

His hand felt warm, funny warm, in yours. Fingers. Clumsy. Suddenly extraneous. Didn’t quite know their way around, or how to stay still, for that matter. Act natural.

Melchior was sensing it too, apparently. He tightened his grip on their joined hands, accompanying that with a reassuring smile on his face. They were outside. Walking. Together. It should be fine.

Moritz blushed.

_So._

So this was it?

Was this the way things were supposed to work?

He still remembered.

It was only last night, after all.

There’s the lingering chill, a ghost, of Melchior’s lips on his neck. Softness brushing against hot skin. When he leaned over. Just a brush. Before pulling away. His darkened eyes. Little squeaks of the bed (that he prayed and prayed his mother would not have heard. It was Melchior’s idea to use his place.) and Melchior’s body sliding closer and closer to his.

Until.

Melchior’s hand was on his thigh, and God forbid if he could understand how breathing worked this second. The measly bits of Latin he swore to memorize turned gibberish in his head. He was probably radiating enough heat to melt a miniature igloo house.

One inch closer of that creeping, sneaky finger of the hand he thought he knew so well, and his mother would have to sue dear mister Melchior Gabor for his untimely death due to cardiac arrest.

Overreacting. Another bulletpoint in his job specification as Moritz Stiefel.

Melchior’s breaths were blending in with his. Moritz sat still, hands to himself, eyes (goddamn eyes) directed at Melchior’s shirt.

He wasn’t.

_No._

_Couldn’t be._

But yes. Yes. Yes, admit it, some traitorous noise in his head yelped out. Like desire had somehow pushed it against the wall and demanded a truthful answer.

_Admit it, you fool._

He’s my best friend.

_It’s hooked on you now, no way out._

He could feel the light touch of Melchior’s nose against his, skin tingling.

_But what._

Would it ever…what would he (seemed to be the one question he always ended up wondering about Melchior)….would it happen (please. I’m not ready, said a part of his brain)….

…but…if it does…how…

That shirt. The glimpse of the skin underneath the fabric, the creases of the shirt that wrinkled when Melchior shuffled against him….and the friction…oh, God, the sweet, delirious friction—

He didn’t realize how tight he was holding onto the bedsheets until Melchior’s smirk hovered before his eyes.

A finger touched his lips, silencing his protest (and whatever excuses he could (could?! Moritz doubted he could spell rationale now) come up with to back out of this).

“Shh…let me do the work, okay?”

Stupid coaxing words.

It started when he, after pressing the spacebar to pause the video, backed up his chair, so far from the desk that it hit the edge of the bed. He had forced his own eyes open and made it through several (painful) minutes of the ‘video’ before giving up.

But the tension down in his (usually comfortable) school trousers seemed to disagree.

One. Two. Three.

Give it a few more seconds and he was about to get up to fix this.

Whatever it would take.

This was ridiculous. And unprepared for.

Certainly not in front of his best friend.

Who was…. _shit_ …standing up and coming around to—

It wasn’t a nod, he told himself, keeping his eyes on Melchior. As one to negotiate and break up a fight, he was ready to punch the smug, knowing look out of that face.

“Shut up.”

Melchior’s hand, taking advantage of his dazed state, gently forced its way into his. He distinctly heard an amused, “I haven’t said anything yet.”

Moritz fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I can take care of this. Your essay’s told me—“

The reply, a chuckle, echoed in his ears. “A cold shower?” Sometimes he wished Melchior hadn’t gotten himself into the drama club. Or started acting. “Imagining dead animals?” The bastard was doing a perfect imitation of a waiter offering him the available choices on the menu, except hinting very strongly that there was only one option he should choose.

Melchior’s face was opposite his. “There’s a much better, more enjoyable way than that.”

“But…” he gestured at them, awkwardly. “We…we are two guys…Melchi.”

Hands helped him out of the chair and onto the bed. Dizziness clouded his vision. A hand rested in his, like it belonged there, the other placed flat on his thigh.

“Rules are meant to be broken.” Typical Melchior. “And most of the time, don’t tell me you haven’t known me long enough for this, the fun parts aren’t written in the book.”

That’s when it happened.

The tiny nip on his neck.

xxxxx

The door was locked.

His air supply was cut off.

But Moritz was not complaining, not when Melchior Gabor was pressed against him, lips attached to his, hip to hip, his own back to his bedroom wall.

School bags were thrown to the floor when they reached his room. Melchior had grabbed him and was eagerly continuing what they started on the way walking to his house.

It was good, it was _better_ ….than good…a whole lot satisfying…being able to act on his desires…with no one else but his best friend.

_His eyes met with Ilse Neumann’s across the room a couple of times._

_And he looked at her and looked at her._

_Studying her lips, her neck, that barely visible birthmark above her breasts._

His tie was gone when he paused for air, his hair mussed and lips swollen. Melchior was working at his buttons.

_A part of him imagined himself with her. Like this._

_Wondering, as he had that moment before Melchior broke the wall and stepped into another part of his life (that he did not even knew existed), how it might be with her._

_How it might feel._

He grunted, biting his lower lip to keep the sounds down. Melchior had bitten on that sensitive spot on his neck and his hands were (no)where they should be.

_Ilse._

Getting Melchior’s shirt and tie off was no challenge. That devilish look of encouragement in those eyes was more of a problem.

_He might possibly get the courage to ask her out. Someday. Someday but not—_

Oh, _fuck_. Right _there_. Melchi, _please_. he heard himself cry, regretting it when he did.

_Not today. Not yet. He would know when he was ready. He would know._

PS. Please don't hesitate to drop Moritz a message or say hi to him through my RP blog [ here ](http://www.gotdrunkinthesnow.tumblr.com). :)

**Author's Note:**

> this work was inspired by [ this fanart ](http://alittleintoxicated.tumblr.com/post/27278004853)
> 
> **_Thank you so much for clicking on this, stopping by, and reading,  
>  Your feedback and support are invaluable to me,_**  
>  **  
>  _Your ever humble fanfic writer  
> _  
> **


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